Chaos and Moonlight (Order of the Nines Book 1)

by Marrow, A. D.

  “It doesn’t surprise me that the concept of discernment and acquired taste escapes you, considering that your favorite show is still Three’s Company.” Judah sipped the dark beer and smiled as he set it down.

  “Hey, fuck you, man!” Achan threw another dart. “That show defined a generation.” His enormous shoulders flexed underneath his still-bloodstained muscle tee. He brushed his coal-black curls away from his face with a bandaged forearm before throwing another dart, letting out a grunt of satisfaction when it landed square in the middle of the forehead of the portrait’s subject. “Kill shot!” He turned to Judah, fixing his eyes on the second glass of paler beer that sat on the coaster toward the back half of the baby grand. “Besides, Chrissie was hot.”

  “Very true,” Judah said with a laugh. “Something about those pigtails and brightly colored spandex makes it all worth it.”

  “Amen, Maestro,” Achan said. He raised his glass and met Judah’s, cheersing each other. They brought their drinks to their lips and with a silent ‘Go’ tipped them back, chugging as fast as they could.

  Achan set his down on the piano just as Judah was finishing the last drop of his.

  “Ha! Beat you again, you woman.”

  Judah shook his head. “Man, can’t you take it easy on a guy tonight? I just fished bullet shards out of my shoulder.”

  Achan shook his head. “Nope. You lost, you lay off the maudlin shit, and those are the rules, regardless of what you fished out of where.”

  Judah reluctantly placed his hands on the keyboard. “You realize how nasty that sounded, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” Achan replied, smiling from ear to ear, his almost-black eyes twinkling. “It was completely intentional.”

  “Figured,” Judah muttered. “Okay. So what is it this time?”

  Achan paced the room and was about to tell him he was in the mood for a little obnoxious Irish drinking music when the door burst wide open.

  They both spun around to see Taris and Rhiannon, walking arm and arm.

  “Damn the luck,” Achan mumbled.

  “It’s just as well,” Judah said, trying to stifle a laugh. “I can’t play all that well with my right hand anyway.”

  “Then you should go easy on it in the shower.”

  Judah threw the shirt that lay on top of the piano at Achan.

  “And you should keep your damned clothes on, too.”

  Judah was about to throw his empty glass when Rhiannon managed to pull away from Taris and save it.

  “What are you, toddlers?” She set the glass back down onto the piano.

  “Use the coaster, please. This piano is old.” Judah jerked the glass away from the black lacquer and clutched it to his bare chest before turning himself around to face Taris. He extended his unoccupied hand out to him, his blue eyes narrowed, and stared at the other male with genuine respect. “Good to see you,” he said as they clasped hands.

  “Everything in this house is old. You can’t use that excuse. And it’s good to see you, too, Jude. How’s the arm?” Taris pointed to the bandaged shoulder.

  “Oh, it aches a bit, but by tomorrow it’ll be fine. Scarred, no thanks to this idiot, but fine.” Judah nudged his head toward Achan. “Wouldn’t have to deal with it if the comedian over here would have taken care of it for me.”

  “Dude, I was not licking your shoulder. Fuck that.” Achan sat down on the piano bench, pulling Rhiannon down to sit next to him. He threw a large arm around her shoulder and leaned in. “He wanted me to lick him. Can you imagine that?”

  “I only asked you to do something you have always wanted to do anyway. And technically, I didn’t ask you to lick me, I asked you to lick a rag and wipe my shoulder.” Judah turned completely to Taris again. “Insubordinate to a fault.”

  “I can handle being insubordinate,” Achan said with a straight face. “I just wish you would stop trying to make me gay.” Achan cast a somber glance at Taris. “How’s Kalin? Is she doing okay with everything?”

  Taris gripped Achan’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze before nodding his head. “She’s doing okay, though I’m sure she’d be more than happy to hear from you.”

  Achan nodded.

  “That’s enough for now, gentlemen,” Rhiannon gently interrupted. “Taris’s doctor friend is here. You need to make yourselves presentable and come downstairs so you can meet her.” She stopped and looked around. “Where’s Zillah?”

  Just then, a piercing scream came flooding up the stairwell. It was full of panic, its feminine edge interrupted by the telltale silence that came when it was abruptly stifled. The moment it pierced the atmosphere, Taris started running through the giant music room, heading for the door. Judah, Achan, and Rhiannon all stared at one another for a moment before following him.

  “Something tells me I know where she is,” Judah said. “And when Taris finds her, it won’t be pretty.

  * * *

  “If you want to keep your tongue, you won’t scream again.”

  The woman directly in front of Sarah was the definition of menacing, and the fact that she had a steel extension pressed into her chest didn’t help. Her purple eyes beat down with nothing short of murder behind them. Sarah fought the acidic bile that was rising up in her throat. Her heart was pounding at a million miles a minute. She was fighting the urge to cry, but the one rational part of her brain that wasn’t in fight-or-flight mode told her that any noise at all meant pain.

  “Who are you?”

  Sarah swallowed the fear that was tickling her tongue and started to open her mouth to answer, but was cut short by the sharp pressure of a blade tip being pushed into the skin just above her left breast. She felt a warm wetness trickle down between her shirt and her skin.

  “I asked you a question, and I expect an answer. Now, who are you, and what are you doing in this house? How did you get in here?”

  “I, um…”

  “‘Um’ is not a sufficient answer. I will give you one final chance to tell me why you are here before I rip your throat out with my bare hands.”

  Sarah was about to answer when a loud growl pierced the room. It reverberated off the walls, its power causing the fire in the hearth to jolt and flare. It even penetrated into the wood, and in a blur of leather and steel, Sarah saw the woman in front of her fly against the wall. Taris held her up with one hand against the picture-molded panels, his other hand gripping the steel part of the blade that had just been slowly working its way into Sarah’s skin. The woman was clawing at his fingers, another growl radiating from her. The blood from his hand was beginning to track down the sleeve of his trench, landing in fat drops on the Persian rug.

  “Taris!”

  The male voice from the doorway caused Sarah to shift her attention once again. It was steady, but strong. Sarah fought to focus as two large male bodies entered the room behind Rhiannon.

  “Taris, let her go!”

  A huge, dark-haired man with a bloody muscle tee stopped directly in front of her, as did Rhiannon. The leaner, blond man took a few steps toward the unyielding Taris.

  “Let…me…go,” the woman strained to whisper.

  “Why should I, Zillah?” Taris’ voice was dangerous. His words were filtered through the low growl that centered deep within his chest. “You cut her, I can smell her blood. I should kill you where you stand.”

  “What is she to you, eh? Just a skinny girl.” The woman against the wall used her booted feet to push up and ease the stranglehold he had on her, only to lose her leverage when Taris pulled her back and slammed her into the wall again.

  “She belongs to me, do you hear me? She is MINE.”

  Sarah could see the blond man’s shoulders tensing, his breath becoming more and more labored. His fists were beginning to clench down by his sides, and the maroon sunburst star tattoo in the center of his back danced as the muscles beneath it twitched.

  “She doesn’t know, Taris. I said let her go!”

  Something in the blond’s voice caused Taris to
ease his grip on the woman. The growls from the two men that had been echoing in the room slowly began to fade out. He lowered the woman to the floor but jerked his hand holding the blade back, twisting it in his grip. He pushed her with one finger and held the base of her throat.

  “Apologize to the good doctor, whom I have brought here to save us from extinction.”

  The woman’s eyes narrowed in confusion, then went wide. Her face instantly softened, and when it did, Sarah almost took a breath. She was lovely. Truly lovely. Not in the ethereal way of Rhiannon, but she was truly beautiful in a fierce way. Her brown hair fell from a thick ponytail, giving her face a fresh look. Her eyes, once a murderous royal purple, were now fading into a strange lavender color unlike anything Sarah had ever seen before.

  “But—”

  “But nothing, Zillah. Apologize now, or I cut you back.”

  The woman pursed her lips together and sucked in a breath through her nose. She let it out in a quick burst before ducking under Taris’ arm and stomping past the blond man to stand in front of Sarah.

  “I am sorry, truly. I did not know who you were.” She placed a gloved hand over her heart and made a slight bow. “My apologies. I am Zillah, and I am at your service.”

  Sarah nodded. “It’s okay,” she managed to whisper.

  “Oh, for the love of God,” Rhiannon jumped in. “You people act like this is a funeral or something.” She sat down on the arm of the chair and grabbed Sarah’s hand in hers. “Sarah, I would like you to meet your adoring fan club. That gentleman over there, the one without his damned clothes on, that is Judah.” She pointed to the blond, who tilted his head down in recognition. He smiled at her, and she couldn’t help but smile back when she saw his gorgeous blue eyes and handsome face.

  “That gigantic horse’s arse over there is Achan.”

  “Hey,” he shot back. “Why am I the horse’s ass?”

  “Say ‘arse,’ love. It makes you sound less primitive.”

  “Oh, fine, fine, I’m the primitive one,” he smiled as he walked toward Sarah. He stretched out a large hand to her but at the last minute instead pulled her out of her chair and enveloped her in his telephone pole arms. “You are awesome, woman. I am so glad you are doing this for us. You are like a god to me, for real.”

  “Thank you,” Sarah wheezed from the cradle of his thick black hair. After spinning her around with a deep barrel-chested laugh, he put her back in the chair, staring down at her with a smile. His eyes were as pitch black as his hair. Unlike Judah, who was light colored and packed with lean muscle, Achan was thick and dark, his skin a creamy tan.

  “No, thank you,” he smiled at her.

  “All right, enough with the romance,” Taris said. “You’re hurt. Let’s seal that cut, and then we can get down to business, okay?” He wasn’t even looking at Sarah when he pulled her out of her chair. “We’ll meet you in the kitchen in ten minutes. Then we can discuss the game plan.”

  Without another word from anyone, Taris led Sarah to the nearest bathroom, leaving Judah, Achan, Zillah, and Rhiannon standing in the middle of the Man Room.

  “Please tell me he didn’t do what I think he did,” Achan said. “Did he feed from her?”

  “That he did, arse. That he did,” Rhiannon muttered.

  “I’ve never seen him attack one of us like that,” Zillah chimed in. “I can’t ever remember him being that protective of anything.”

  “He wasn’t just being protective, Zillah,” Judah said as he spontaneously ran a finger over the slight knick on her throat. He brushed off a single blood drop and wiped it on the front of his jeans.

  The gesture didn’t seem to faze Zillah. It was almost as if she didn’t even notice it. “If he wasn’t being protective, then what the hell was that?”

  “Territorial,” Judah whispered. “He was being territorial.”

  Chapter 13

  “Are you okay?”

  Taris led her through the house and pulled her into a cream and marble bathroom at the top of a giant staircase.

  “Shook up a little,” she responded. Her voice was distant. As he closed the door, he gently set her down on the edge of the tub. Her face was pale, and her eyes were wide and bloodshot. It dawned on him that he’d put her through more trauma in the last twenty-four hours than she’d probably endured in her entire life.

  “I’m sorry about Zillah,” he said. With his uninjured hand, he turned on the water faucet and ran his cut palm under the warm stream. Once it was completely clean, he lifted it to his mouth and sucked on his palm until he felt the skin beginning to close. “She’s a bit of a powder keg sometimes.”

  “It’s okay,” she muttered. She was now staring at the floor.

  “Not, it’s not,” he said. Taris pulled a rag from the drawer and ran it under the water before kneeling in front of her. “I brought you here to keep you safe, and you ended up getting cut. That’s not cool.”

  He looked down at the wound on her chest. Zillah’s cut went deeper than he’d initially thought. The smell of her blood was beginning to float around him. Without so much as asking her permission, he slid between her legs and began to unbutton the silk pajama shirt. She muttered a halfhearted protest, but Taris lifted a hand to her face and cupped her cheek.

  “Please,” he whispered, “let me help you. Let me make this better.”

  His fingers made quick work of the buttons. Once her shirt was completely undone, he pulled back the silk folds, exposing the lacy, lime green bra that had set him on fire the first time he saw her. Trying not to think too much about it, he focused instead on the laceration on her chest. A fresh bead of blood was blooming on the surface, so he licked his thumb and ran it across the cut, drawing away any wayward traces of blood.

  On impulse, he lifted a finger to his mouth and flicked over the drop with his tongue, pursing his lips against it to make sure he had gotten every bit of it. He looked away from her and squeezed his eyes shut. The taste of her sent a shocking tingle coursing through his body, and a subtle moan escaped him.

  He couldn’t help himself. The smell of her skin, the taste of her blood, it was beginning to make his insides burn. Taris tossed the washcloth he’d been holding in his hand and dipped his head to her chest. As his lips touched her skin, he felt the sharp inhale of her breath. The rapid racing of her heart pounded in his ears as he made the first slow pass with his tongue. He paused and waited for her to tell him to stop.

  But she didn’t. Instead, he felt her fingers slowly beginning to make their way over his shoulders and into his hair. He glanced up at her, trying to read her expression, but her eyes were closed, her lips parted, and the vein in her throat pulsed so hard he could hear it. His hands slipped around her waist, and he pulled her closer as he lowered his mouth again.

  This time, he felt the moan rumble in her chest.

  It was supposed to be clinical. It was supposed to be a simple repair job, but as his mouth made contact with her flesh again, he felt his pants getting tighter and need taking over.

  The cut was healing now, the skin stitching itself together before his eyes. The job was done, and whatever was happening between them needed to either stop or go to the next level.

  Do it, he thought as he lowered his mouth again, only this time, the pass he made with his tongue didn’t stop at the borders of the cut. Instead, he left a slow burning trail across her collar bone, lingering at the hollow of her throat.

  She tilted her head back, silently directing him. His mouth ran up the center of her throat, and he ran his hand across her torso, gently caressing her shoulder. The feel of her soft skin against his calloused hand made his body nearly jerk out of control. Dragging his fingers across her cheek, he cupped the side of her face and brought her head down, her mouth barely a whisper from his.

  “Sarah,” he whispered, licking his lips. Her eyes were narrowed, her breath labored, and he moved in to take her mouth with his.

  “Taris!” The loud banging on the door shook them both o
ut of the trance.

  “Fucking asshole Achan,” he groaned, dropping his hand and moving back from her so that she could stand.

  “Taris!” The loud bang on the door sounded again. “You okay in there? You guys didn’t fall in, did you?”

  “We’ll be out in a minute,” Taris barked at the door. He stood up and turned away from Sarah, readjusting himself. Once he’d fixed his jeans, he turned around and saw her waiting patiently at the door, her pajama shirt not only buttoned again but pulled tightly around her. Seeing her like that, he felt like an ass yet again.

  Except she didn’t look pissed. She looked…disappointed.

  “Come on,” he said, breezing past her. “Your fan club is waiting.”

  * * *

  Sarah followed Taris into the enormous kitchen, determined not to make eye contact with anyone. Her head was down, eyes on the backs of his boots.

  “All better?” Rhiannon smiled over her cup of coffee, her voice just as melodic and cheerful as Sarah had come to expect.

  Taris grunted, Sarah nodded, and they all went back to their drinks.

  She desperately wanted to tell her that no, nothing was better. If anything, it was worse and that much more weird.

  The awkward and undeniably sexually charged atmosphere carried into the cozy little breakfast area where four other vampires were waiting for them.

  For her.

  Rhiannon handed her a cup of coffee. “I didn’t know how you take it, so I left it black. If you want some sugar and cream it’s right there on the counter.”

  Sarah shook her head and gave Rhiannon a smile. “No, black is perfect. Thank you.”

  She tried not to notice when Taris flung a chair out from under the table and slumped down into it. In his hands he held three beers, two of which he slid to Judah, who was now wearing a black cotton long-sleeved T-shirt, and Achan, who was wearing a novelty tee that Sarah had to read twice to make out the message: “Break the Silence.”

  “Thanks, T,” Achan said before turning to Sarah. “So, Doc, I gotta tell you, that interview with what’s-her-name. Priceless.”